‘It doesn’t matter. So long as there was a good stiff wind, and he could sail close _enough to it, he might have made quite a good way in ten minutes. What sort of boat was it?’
Here Harriet’s knowledge failed her. She had put it down as a fishing-boat riot because she could scientifically distinguish a fishing-boat from a 5-metre yacht, but because one naturally, when visiting the seaside, puts down all boats as fishing-boats until otherwise instructed. She thought it had a pointed sort of sail — or sails — she couldn’t be sure. She was sure it was not, for example, a fully rigged fourmasted schooner, but otherwise one sailing-boat was to her exactly like any other; as it is to most town-bred persons, especially to literary young women.
‘Never mind,’ said Wimsey. ‘We’ll be able to trace it all — right, All boats must come to shore somewhere, thank goodness. And they’re all well known to people along the coast. I only wanted to know what sort of draught the boat was likely to have. You see, if the boat couldn’t come right in to the rock, the fellow would have had to row himself, in, or swim for it, and that would delay him a good bit. And he’d have to have somebody standing on and off with the boat while he did it, unless he stopped to take in sail, and all that. I mean, you can’t just stop a sailing boat and step out of it like a motor-car, leaving it on its own all ready to start. You’d get into difficulties. But that makes no odds. Why shouldn’t the murderer have an accomplice? It has frequently happened, before. We’d better assume that there were at least two men in a small boat with a very light draught. Then they could bring her close in, and one of the men would bring her round to the wind, while the other’ waded or rowed alone, did the murder and got back, so that they could make off again without wasting a moment. You see, they’ve got to do the murder, get back to the boat and clear out to where you saw them within the ten minutes between the cry you heard and the time of your arrival. So we can’t allow a lot of time for pulling the boat to shore and making fast and pushing off again and setting sail and all that. Hence I suggest the accomplice.’
‘But how about the Grinders?’ asked Harriet, rather diffidently. ‘I thought it was very dangerous to bring boats close to shore at that point.’
‘Blow it! So it is. Well, they must have been very skilful sailors. But that would mean further to row or wade, as the case may be. Bother it! I wish we could allow them rather more time.’
‘You don’t think—’ began Harriet. A very unpleasant idea had just struck her. ‘You don’t think the murderer could have been there, quite close, all the time, swimming under water, or something?’
‘He’d’ have had to come up to breathe.’
‘Yes, but I might not have noticed him. There were lots of times when I wasn’t looking at the sea at all. He would have heard me coming, and he might have ducked down close under the rock and waited there till I came down to look for the razor. Then he might have dived and swum away while my back was turned. I don’t know if it’s possible, and I hope it isn’t, because I should hate to think he was there all the time — watching me’
‘It’s a nasty thought,’ said Wimsey. ‘I rather hope he was there, though. It would give him a beast of a shock to see you hopping round taking photographs and things. I wonder if there is any cleft in the Flat-Iron where he might have hidden himself. Curse the rock! Why can’t it come out and show itself like a man? I say, I’m going down to have a look at it. Turn your modest eyes seawards till I have climbed into a bathing-suit, and I’ll go down and explore.’
Not content with this programme, unsuited to a person of her active temperament, Harriet removed, — not only her glance, but her person, to the shelter of a handy rock, and emerged, bathing-suited, in time to catch Wimsey as he ran down over the sand.
‘And he strips better than I should have expected,’ she admitted candidly to herself. ‘Better shoulders than I realised, and, thank Heaven, calves to his legs.’ Wimsey, who was rather proud of his figure, would hardly have been flattered could he have heard this modified rapture, but for the moment he was happily unconcerned about himself. He entered the sea near the Flat-Iron with caution, not knowing what bumps and boulders he might encounter, swam a few strokes to encourage himself, and them; popped his head out to remark that the water was beastly cold and that it would do Harriet good to come in.
Harriet came in, and agreed that the water was cold and the wind icy. Agreed on this point, they returned to the Flat-Iron, and felt their way carefully round it, Presently Wimsey, who had been doing some under-water investigation on the Wilvercombe side of the rock, came out, spluttering, and asked if Harriet had come down on that side or on the other to hunt for the razor.
‘On the other,’ said Harriet. ‘It was like this, I was up on top of the rock with the body, like this.’ She climbed out, walked up to the top of the rock, and stood shivering in the wind. ‘I looked round on both sides of me like this.’
‘You didn’t look down in this direction, by any chance?’ inquired Wimsey’s head, standing up sleek as a seal’s out of the water.
‘No, I don’t think so. Then, after I’d fussed about with the corpse a bit, I got down this way. I sat on something just about here. and took my shoes and stockings, off and tucked my things up. Then I came round in this direction and groped about under the rock. There was about eighteen
inches of water then. There are about five feet now, I should think.’
‘Can you began Wimsey. A wave slopped suddenly over his head and extinguished him. Harriet laughed.
‘Can you see me?’ he went on, blowing the water out of his nostrils.
‘I can’t. But I heard you. I t was very amusing.’
‘Well, restrain your sense of humour. You can’t see me.’
‘No. There’s a bulge in the rock. Where, exactly, are you, by the way?’
‘Standing in a nice little niche, like a saint over a cathedral door.’ It’s, just about the size of a coffin. Six feet high or thereabouts, with a pretty little roof and room to squeeze in rather tightly sideways, if you’re not what the Leopard called “too vulgar big”. Come round and try it for yourself.’
‘What a sweet little spot,’ said Harriet, scrambling round and taking Wimsey’s place in the niche. ‘Beautifully screened from all sides, except from the sea. Even at quite low tide one couldn’t be seen, unless, of course, somebody happened to come round and stand just opposite the opening. I certainly didn’t do that. How horrible! The man must have been in here all the time.’
‘Yes, I think it’s more plausible than the boat idea.’
‘Bright!’ said Harriet.
‘I’m so glad you think so.’
‘I didn’t mean that — and it was my idea in the first place. I meant Bright, the man who bought the razor. Didn’t the hairdresser person say he was a small man — smaller than you, anyway?’
‘So he did. One up to you. I wish we could get hold of Bright. I wonder — Oh, I say! I’ve found something!’
‘Oh, what?’
‘It’s a ring the sort of thing you tie boats up to, driven right into the rock. It’s under water and I can’t see it properly, but it’s about five feet off the ground and it feels smooth and new, not corroded. Does that help with our boat-theory at all, I wonder?’